


Calm After the Storm

by SpaceShaolin



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceShaolin/pseuds/SpaceShaolin
Summary: Three conversations the members have with each other post-hiatus.





	

Yongguk knows it when he feels it – the tune of a hundred different sounds bubbling up inside him, all of them making the loudest noise possible to gain control. He hasn’t quite found the words for them yet, but he can hear the music begin to form in ragged, jagged pieces in his brain. Already, he’s itching to rush to the studio to get it all down if it will make the thumping inside his head stop…

… But Youngjae’s here, still watching television, and looking all sorts of defeated and tired. Yongguk can’t find it within himself to leave him in such a state.

It’s late, and they’re both somehow the last members up, Yongguk randomly wandering into the shared room after grabbing a late-night snack. On their first evening back at the old dorm together, Yongguk finds Youngjae watching a music show on television. At first, he thinks it’s under the guise of catching up on anything they’d missed over the break.

But when he sees Youngjae particularly focused on the stages of groups promoting that new brand of aggressive, angry hip-hop that seems to be picking up steam these days, Yongguk knows that he might be watching the music shows for a completely different reason.

“It’s not _fair,_ hyung,” Youngjae says to start the conversation. “That’s _our_ thing. We started that.”

Yongguk sighs. “Youngjae.”

But Youngjae makes no sign of hearing him. “Doesn’t this make you feel lousy?” he continues. “That should be _us_ up there, doing that stuff. If things just weren’t so _shitty_ –” He breaks off the sentiment with a low growl and settles for glaring at the screen instead.

He doesn’t mention it – he doesn’t have to – but Yongguk immediately knows what he means. But he’s at a loss on what to do next. Should he agree? Apologize? But what for? Everyone had agreed to do it back then. And they’re already back in the mix after so long. So why is he second-guessing his actions now?

On TV, the new group is still dancing.

Beside him, Youngjae is still seething.

Inside him, Yongguk can still feel the rhythms pulsing within, desperate for some form of release.

He wills the noise to stop, if only just for tonight, so that he can plan his next course of action.

They’re making a comeback now, and Yongguk knows that they’ll have to work harder than ever to even taste what they used to enjoy back then.

The work will be long. It will be exhausting. And once Yongguk starts, he knows he can’t afford to second-guess himself anymore. Only sure strides from here on out. If he truly believes he’s making something good, then the rewards are sure to follow. But that doesn’t mean the road will be easy.

Yongguk takes another glance at Youngjae beside him. He’s still frowning, although the long minutes of silence have softened his features somewhat.

But he still looks small. Terrified, even, and Yongguk doesn’t blame him for it.

Seeing Youngjae look so defeated, even at the onset of a new chance with the group, only serves to fuel Yongguk’s determination. He does not want to see any of his members look like this ever again. The lawsuit has already taken so much out of their young lives. In his heart of hearts, Yongguk knows he will do all that it takes to make sure they don’t suffer again.

He will take care of this.

He will take care of them.

It’s what a leader does, right?

He tests the weight of leadership on his shoulders, and finds it new, yet familiar, at the same time. If anything, it has grown heavier, and Yongguk knows that experience has made it so.

He’s seen what happens when he lets someone else take the reigns on both himself and on his team. He’s seen what happens when he lets someone else take control.

So, he resolves to take care of things himself.

He knows now to trust nobody but himself to take charge. How could he let them? They’ve never eaten with his team. Never slept with them. Never lived with them. They don’t know. They wouldn’t know.

But Yongguk does, and damn if he makes the mistake of trusting them, or anyone else, again.

He’s already screwed up once.

He’s not going to allow himself to do it again.

“Youngjae,” he says, his voice rumbling the name out slowly and deliberately. It does the trick. Immediately, his junior looks away from the TV to focus on him. “Leave this to me,” Yongguk tells him, shaking off the short flash of fear that strikes his insides when he sees how instantly ready the younger is to follow his instructions. “Okay? We’ll be fine. We’ll be back on top again.”

Youngjae blinks at him for a moment, looking like he’s unsure of what he’s heard. But he breaks out into a relieved smile after a while. “Yeah,” he answers, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, of course. I believe you, hyung. Always have.”

For a short, blissful instant, the music stops playing in Yongguk’s head, grinding to a screeching silence and allowing him to fully immerse himself in the moment. Yongguk feels a large weight drop from his shoulders and into his heart, making it pump and swell to twice its normal size. His members really are something else.

Yongguk lets the warmth spread to his smile, making sure Youngjae can see. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, his voice all big and solid and so impossible to refute. “I’ll take care of us.”

Youngjae smiles at him and tries to hide the sniff that escapes through his nose. “We’ll ah…” He hesitates and pauses to scratch his cheek. He chuckles to himself, as though embarrassed that he’s so shy in front of someone who should already be so familiar to him. “We – we’ll be working hard too, hyung.”

“You always have.”

“We’ll make it back, won’t we?”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“With you as our leader, hyung, I never will.”

Youngjae smiles at him again, and Yongguk instantly knows that this is one more thing he’ll fight to protect.

Only sure steps now. No looking back.

B.A.P will be at the top again, no matter what it takes.

The music inside him swells again. Jumbled words threaten to leap from his mind and onto music sheets for his band mates to share with the world.

But for tonight, Yongguk supposes he can afford to take a rest, even if it’s a short one. Tomorrow, he decides, the real work will begin.

Yongguk silently pries the remote control from Youngjae’s now-relaxed fist and softly, but firmly, changes the channel. “Wanted to watch something else, for a change,” he explains, his mouth stretching into a wide smile when Youngjae begins to laugh, long and loud, willing their past worries and burdens to fade away into the darkness. 

* * *

It is far too early in the morning, Himchan thinks, to be dealing with the likes of Jung Daehyun. If only he’d had his special blend of coffee with him, then he supposes he’d be better-equipped to handle his hyperactivity.

But as it is, it’s still just their first week back at their old dorms, and Himchan, being as practical as could be, had managed to think it was all somehow still a joke. A joke, that they’d all be rooming together again and sharing the stage, like the last months never happened.

Because of this, he’d foolishly only packed the bare essentials for their trip back to the dorms – nothing fancy, really, just his usual clothes, toiletries, and facial moisturizers. He hadn’t thought to pack his special coffee blend with him, so now, he was forced to drink the same gross, totally ineffective goop with the rest of the commoners.

So if he’s still a little sore, and more than a million miles away from the land of the living and fully awake, then Himchan hopes the others find enough sense to leave him well alone until the caffeine kicks in.

Unfortunately, sense was not really Daehyun’s strongest suit. Oh, he could sing worth a damn and was so much nicer than Himchan could ever hope to be.

But the boy just would not shut up.

“Can’t believe you actually forgot where everything was, hyung, I didn’t really think this place would be so easy to forget!”

Ah, right.

He had forgotten where the utensils all were, on their first days back. How nice and convenient that Daehyun was there to make fun of him for forgetting. But was it really Himchan’s fault that it’s been too long?

He didn’t think they were going to see this place again anyway. Not after what happened.

“Ah, but of course I can’t really blame you, hyung. It’s been too long after all, huh?”

The good thing about letting Daehyun yammer on and on, was that he’d eventually get it right. The only problem was, it usually took a long eventually before he did.

Himchan tries to rub his emerging migraine away.

Had it really been so long since the last time they lived together? Everyone else on the team appears to have moved on so quickly. Yongguk’s already at the recording studio. Daehyun and Youngjae are eating, talking, and sleeping normally like nothing happened. And the last two kids had made a dash for the dance studio as soon as they were able to set their bags down.

And where does that leave Himchan?

He frowns.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of when the news broke out. He’d been relieved, of course. Ecstatic, even. But after the initial wave of happiness, he’d been slammed with the inevitable “what next?”

So now, look at where his overthinking has gotten him.

“Even now, it still feels unreal, you know?” Daehyun says suddenly. “All that time I spent resting… it’s been a year, but it felt longer, for sure.”

Himchan knows the feeling. But he doesn’t bother to comment, in case Daehyun got the wrong idea and thought he was actually interested in the one-sided conversation. That Daehyun had hit the proverbial nail in the head yet again was hardly surprising anymore to Himchan. Let the boy blabber on, he thinks, and he’ll eventually get to the heart of the matter. Maybe if he maintains his silence, Daehyun would get bored of him and leave him alone for the next few millennia.

But his junior is unrelenting.

“I’m not totally dense,” he continues to say, as if he’s still waiting on Himchan to weigh in with his opinion. “I know what this means. We’re going to start over again. No rest days for us.”

Against his better judgement, Himchan snorts audibly to show he’s heard. The notion of working from scratch isn’t lost on him. But he’d rather not think about the implications right now, thank you very much. Not when he’d just gotten out of bed and isn’t really in the right state of mind to be processing feelings this early.

“But you know something?”

Something in his tone makes Himchan look up from his breakfast.

“I’m glad I get to start over again with you guys.”

Himchan grunts and drops his gaze back down to his food. “Finish your breakfast, kid,” is all he says, but he can’t help the small grin from crossing his features as he does so.

It’s kind of hard not to – not when Daehyun’s flashing you his stupid, cheeky, dorky, megawatt, one-of-a-kind smile that can light up the darkest of rooms.

Not that Himchan has any intention of telling him, of course.

So he dips his spoon into Daehyun’s bowl and scoops out a large, generous helping of his junior’s cereals. He laughs his first real laugh in months, timing his happiness to the loud, half-meant protests coming out of Daehyun’s mouth.

It’s a familiar sort of noise, not unlike Yongguk’s low, reassuring rumble of a voice or Jongup’s quiet snickers. It’s something that fills his gut with nice, warm feelings, much like Youngjae’s small, knowing smiles, or Junhong’s generous beams of joy.

Nothing like a good dongsaeng-bullying session to start the day.

Wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea or anything anyway.

* * *

Of all the members, it’s the two youngest who fall back into their old routine straightaway. Already glad for being granted a second chance to do what they love best, Jongup and Junhong waste no time in crashing the dance studio as soon as they’re able.

The process is not so difficult. Every dance move from before is something so deeply embedded in them, that they would have been able to perform them in their sleep, blindfolded, if asked. Coming up with new moves is all just a matter of course for them.

At the studio, they’re able to jump into their old habits so quickly, that it appears as if they’d already moved on from the past series of events. That, or they hadn’t spent much time to process them at all – which, Junhong thinks, poses a sizeable problem.

Everything starts off normally, at first. After the usual warm-ups and stretches, they get right into it, starting the music on Jongup’s player and riding with it until their bodies find the rhythm. But as their dance-off continues, Junhong starts to notice things about his senior dancing next to him.

There’s a new ferocity to Jongup’s moves. They’re more crisp, on-point, and precise. It brings an Eminem song to Junhong’s mind: _“On the surface, he looks calm and ready, to drop bombs.”_

And it’s a façade that’ll fool anybody. On the surface, Jongup appears the most well-prepared of them all. He rides the beat, as ready as he’ll ever be, like he’s never missed a beat during their break.

But there’s a new seriousness gleaming in his eyes that Junhong knows wasn’t there before. A new tentativeness and fear, too. Maybe even surprise that he’s still able to dance so effortlessly after all this time. Junhong can tell what the look means, because he recognizes it from the looks he’d give himself in the mirror too, after news of their comeback was announced.

He understands. Even now, as they’re dancing together, the very idea of it still feels so unreal. After a year on his own, Junhong never thought he’d ever set foot on a stage again – much less a dance studio.

He’s sure the feeling’s mutual for Jongup. His movements have a sense of urgency laced to them now. Like this is the last dance he’ll ever do in his lifetime.

The fear isn’t a good look on Jongup.

So, Junhong starts a conversation with him through dance, cutting into the self-imposed monologue Jongup’s been having all morning.

Junhong’s worried his plan doesn’t work at first. But he soldiers on anyway, deciding to draw on the strength that’s always driven him forward before. He’s not going to back out now.

He’s the complete opposite of Jongup, it turns out. While Jongup’s moves are still slick and sharp, Junhong has to work to get the rhythm. His eyes are fully-set and determined, but his movements are jerky, and completely unlike the older dancer's. The tension couldn’t make itself more obvious in Junhong.

But where his body chooses to betray him, Junhong’s mind is as strong and as resolute as ever. It’s difficult to get into the groove at first, but he’s confident he’ll settle down into it as he finds it. Muscle, after all, is easy to train. It’s getting his mindset involved that’s the tricky part.

Fortunately, Jongup seems to understand.

He moves closer to Junhong then, and begins to make his movements louder and more pronounced, aiming to give some of his confidence to the younger dancer.

The change begins to make itself evident in both of them.

The gradual change first manifests itself in Junhong. With guidance from his elder, he begins to show off a more visible self-assurance. He becomes more confident and more secure in his actions. His dance moves become more aggressive, and before long, Junhong starts to feel the strength radiating off him. The look and resolution in his face add to the effect, lending him a much stronger presence than earlier.

It doesn't take long before Jongup begins to follow suit. 

Soon enough, his eyes are aglow with a more assured glint, and even the tight smile on his face begins to loosen and relax. He keeps up the same movements from before, still riding the music and letting his body jive to it.

If the tension has disappeared from his eyes completely, then it’s something both of them don’t mention. Neither wants to be the first one to ruin the moment. Not right now. Not when it’s their first real dance session in a while. 

It’s a unified wish radiating from both bodies that they hope this won’t be the last.

Both eventually warm up to the familiarity of the routine. They’re dancing now, Junhong thinks – _really_ dancing – and he wants to keep this up forever. It appears Jongup does, too. But their reserves are spent and before long, they both feel the need to stop and rest. When they do, they’re both surprised that the only sound filling the room is their heavy breathing.

Jongup’s music player remains silent on the side, the only witness to their dance-off, but not in a hurry to divulge the sacred moment that just occurred.

It’s the older one who makes the first move. He walks over to the taller one and claps a tired, but clearly thankful hand on his arm. “Good work today,” he says with a nod.

Junhong nods back.

Then, they both smile at each other, proceeding to size each other up.

They’ve both changed so much since the break. They’re more serious now and a little more hardened, after what’s happened.

But despite all that, Junhong thinks, they’ve still managed to remain the same, needing only each other to remind themselves of what they’ve been missing. Things may get rough outside, but inside the dance studio, they’re untouchable.

Junhong can’t wait until the rest of the members gather in the dance studio with them again. He can’t wait to share the feeling; can’t wait to show them that while things are so different now, they’ve still got each other.

It’s something he hopes will never have to change, not for anything.

It’s a sentiment that he sees reflected back at him from Jongup’s eyes.

Junhong grins.

“Hey,” Jongup says, wiping the last of his sweat from his forehead. “Want to go for ice cream?”

The response is automatic. “As long as hyung is paying.”

Jongup laughs. “Fine with me.”

Junhong smiles again.

As long as he’s taking the first step with his band, he knows they’re all capable of anything. After all, Junhong knows they’ve always been better together.


End file.
